


Initiation

by Lidsworth



Series: The Red One [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gift Fic, Humor, based off of personal experience, maedhros almost loses his head, nameless orc and thrall ocs, short drabbe, twice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8195239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lidsworth/pseuds/Lidsworth
Summary: It wasn’t before long that the orcs and thralls of Angband began to accept Maedhros as one of their own. And with acceptance came rituals, incredibly painful rituals.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gultgull](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=gultgull).



> Part two of the Red One. Instead of doing a chapter story, I’m doing little parts in the series. I think it’s better that way, and I can be more flexible!
> 
> Inspired by [Gultgull's art](http://gultgull.tumblr.com/post/149897449084/some-more-gladiator-maedhros-sketches-i-forgot-to#notes) check it out! Also, this is her idea! I'm just writing it!
> 
> As usual, I'm my own beta, so there may be mistakes. I'm always open to critique or just wonderful comments! Tell me what you thought about it!

 

She had almost taken his head off _twice._ TWICE! Certainly, if Morgoth did not personally see to the death of Fëanor’s eldest son himself, than the orc behind him (who he was positively certain was _determined_ to tear his head off of his shoulders) would.

“Hold still!” Gruff and accented, she had hissed at him in what little Quenya she knew, slapping his knuckles with her silver brush, “Not finished yet!”

“You have been at it for hours,” Maedhros responded as politely as he could, which to no one’s surprise, was quite harsh, to the orc who now parted his hair into sections with her long, grimy nail, “And my head is starting to hurt.”

Around him, the others erupted into laughter. Blushing angrily, Maedhros averted his gaze downward.

“You are one of _us_ now, _Red One,”_ she snarled angrily, switching abruptly to black speech, “And you _will_ bear our mark! Take it like the elf you are!”

And with that, she swatted once again at his wandering hand, which had involuntarily found itself climbing for his wrist again.

“Keep up and I will bite it off,” she warned cautiously, though Maedhors knew there was no real weight behind her threat. She valued him too much to handicap him.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t humor himself.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I will lose my head bef—ouch—before I lose my hand.”

“If you cannot get through this without complaining, you may just lose your mind first, little Prince.” It was her turn to tease him now, dubbing him with his less preferred name. Any comeback was silenced, however, as she began to braid his hair.  

He winced as she began to painfully pull at his scalp and twist his hair, and at the realization that she would not let him go (for he sat awkwardly against her stone chair, trapped in between her legs, and hunched forward as she webbed his hair in her hands), he bit his bottom lip to stave off the pain.

Around him, the others had hidden their smirks behind their hands, and those who were particularly daring had all but laughed in his face. He was already the only elf in the midst of orcs, thus he would do little else to embarrass himself.

Better a trail of blood streaming down his lip than a face full of tears from the pain.

After what seemed like eternity (and for an elf, eternity meant a long time), she had stood his weary body up and forced him to look into her mirror.

Hanging from his head were small braids—smaller than he had ever seen them before. They were not like braids from Valinor, for the style was quite exotic, outlandish even. Different. He could see his scalp, red and angry from its abuse, and spot each and every tiny row that made the braids.

In all honesty, despite the ache, he liked it.

They reminded him vaguely of the sparks that flew from his father’s forge, creating large red tails behind them as they fell to the ground and burned out—or the blood of his enemies, gushing through deep wounds in small, veiny tendrils that led to the earth.

The style, it seemed, was quite fitting.

Looking behind him at the she-orc, who stood tense, awaiting his approval, he smiled warmly.

“Thank you,” he spoke honestly, in her tongue as he ran a hand through his new hair, “I like it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can fully relate to this---which is why I had to write it. Firstly, the brush. When I was younger, my mother would sit in my grandfather’s chair, and I, on the ground below her, and she would just go crazy at my head with a thick ass brush, and I would scream. She would braid it, twist it, pin it back, and it hurt like hell. I hated when my mom did my hair, and I still do.  
> I love cornrows as a style—like they’re pretty, but I almost died when I got them. Oh my gosh they hurt, and they are a pain to take out. I lost about 20% of my hair, and the process to get them takes forever. As if normally treating my hair doesn’t take long enough. Nope, condensing my afro into cornrows takes hours and hours.  
> So yeah, gutgull shared the idea of Maedhros being integrated into orcish society and she mentioned hair braiding, I just had to do it.


End file.
